The Dancer
by bandspork
Summary: A story about a guy who joins the "entertainment unit" and falls in love with dance, among other things...


"Another detention!?" Father roared, flecks of spit flying from his mouth, "You stupid faggot! I've had enough of your attitude!" His hand met with my face and I fell to the ground, blood leaking out of my mouth. "Get the fuck up!" He roared, kicking me in the side. "Where's mom?" I squeaked, looking up at my father's towering figure from the floor. "She's at work!" He screamed, pulling on the collar of my shirt until I was standing up. "This is why you have no friends, you stupid fuck! You give everyone attitude, and bitch around like a fucking woman." "I'm not gay." I said, wiping my mouth and standing up straight. "Shut the fuck up." My dad punched me in the stomach, and as I doubled up in pain, I saw him light a cigarette. My vision began to blur as I crawled to my room, leaving a trail of blood on the floor. I pulled myself up to lock the door, then collapsed onto my bed. I woke up several hours later, and sat up quickly. I winced at the pain in my gut, then looked down at my sheets. They were blood red, and I felt weak as I stripped them off my bed. The mattress was stained, but I decided to take care of that later. I put new sheets on, and made my bed quickly. I unlocked the door and looked down the hallway. I could hear the sounds of the TV and my father's snoring, so I ran to the laundry room and put my sheets in the washing machine to soak. Hopefully, they'd be done before mom got home. On my way back to my room, I passed the bathroom and caught a glimpse of my mangled face in the mirror. I carefully ran a warm washcloth over my face, soaking up the blood and revealing my skin color under all the caked layers of blood and dirt. I made sure I still had all my teeth, and applied disinfectant to some of the cuts in my face. I decided to take a leak while I was in the bathroom, and was horrified to find blood in my urine. This can't be good.  
  
Mom came home later that night, eyes sunk deep into her head behind huge bags and grey skin. I went to hug her, but she just walked past me and went into her room. I felt a tear pulling at the corner of my eye, but I mentally told myself that I had to be strong, or else father will call me a fag again. I'm not gay; at least, I don't think I am. Okay, so I've never had a girlfriend. I've been damn close, but I've never had a boyfriend either. I sat, alone, in my room and wished that I had a sibling. Being an only child is very lonely sometimes. I went to my computer and went online. My only friend, Morgan, messaged me, and I started to tell her everything about my horrible life. She told me to stay strong, because I only had a few years to go until I was allowed to take care of myself. Two more years, then I could move into my apartment with Morgan. Two more years, then I can leave this sad little suburb and go to college. Two more years until I could be free. I surfed the internet until I could barely keep my eyes open, signed off, then went to sleep. I settled into the coldness of my new sheets, and fell into a shallow sleep.  
  
My alarm clock went off at 10 the next morning. It was Saturday morning. A beautiful Saturday, and I had to go to work at the supermarket. I pulled on my shirt and the first pair of jeans from the floor, and put on my shoes. I quietly walked out of the house and closed the door behind me. I got to work, right on time, and went to the registers. You know, you can tall a lot about a person, just by their groceries. The people without a lot of money, the people with a lot of money, the fat housewives who trick themselves into thinking their losing weight by buying low-fat foods, even the men who buy beer and chips. They all have to go to the supermarket sometime. My job is to put their groceries into the bags. My only line is, "paper or plastic?" sometimes, people ask for both, or a double bagging, but most people get plastic. Plastic isn't biodegradable. It just sits in landfills, taking up space. At least paper can be recycled.  
  
There are a lot of rules and guidelines, you know. For bagging, I mean. The heaviest things go to the bottom; lightest items are at the top. Never put more than 10 things into one bag. Put heavy things together, light things together. Never put hot food by frozen food. Never put the candy into bags. People always want to eat the candy right after they buy it. They think the sugar can bring them relief from their life. People are so stupid sometimes.  
  
When I get off work, usually I get a slice of pizza, and then I head home. I always come home to find father asleep on the couch, mother at work. Why does she always leave me alone with him? I crawled past the armchair, taking a bite of my pizza. I cleared the chair, then tripped on the carpet. I held the pizza to the plate as I fell, and tried to make as little noise as possible. I hit the floor with a grunt, and father slept on. As I got up, I hit my head on the shelf, and all of the books fell off as the shelf peeled away from the wall. They seemed to fall in slow motion as I tired to grab them. They made a huge boom as they hit the floor, and I saw my father's eyes snap open. They were bloodshot, and I tried to work as fast as I could. I opened the closet and put the pizza inside, for safekeeping, and tried to put the shelf back on the wall before he got up. I stacked the books and hung the shelf eventually. I put the books back on the shelf, and sighed in relief as I turned to get my pizza out of the closet. Father was standing behind me, his face red and fists clenched. "You stupid faggot. You. Are so stupid. I talked to your mother about the detentions last night. We're sending you to boarding school." He smiled a purely evil smile and his laughter echoed through the house. I sunk to the floor, and put my head down. There was a crunch as the shelf broke again, and another crunch as the books fell onto my head.  
  
---------------- this is the first chapter.. a bit of a set-up. I'll get to the main bit eventually. 


End file.
